(Inspiration from a song I heard, had to turn it to this)

 I was in an abyss,

Trundling down the dark,

Jagged rocks

Tearing me apart

On my way down.

I had someone though

Whose faith unshaken

Made me

Unbreakable.

My life was their gift,

Their struggles

My redemption.

My redeemers

Live.

Thanks Mom and Dad.

- Vinaykrishnan.

When you are listening...

Ask away to oblivion,
And for the pearls of attention
That your eyes give me when I answer,
I could speak for eternities…

When you are listening,
I want to be articulate.
I usually am not verbose,
Taciturn was my middle name.

But when you are listening,
I could speak until I run out of breath.
I could ramble on for eons
On things immaterial, and longer for things that matter,

I could reach an array of subjects,
I could flit from topic to topic
Like a nomad wandering from one abode to another,
And keep at it forever when you are listening

But now that reality strikes me again,
And frees me from dreaming,
I realise, that when you are listening,
I usually go speechless.

Your eyes make me feel as though
The world would break down
If I said something stupid
When you are listening.

I am only scared when talking to you
Fear of saying something foolish,
I guess, I would rather just stay shut
When you are listening.

- Vinaykrishnan.

Hope

Like a page. Bound in a book,
I want to break free and roam,
Or float, as might be your perception,
I was filled once,
By love and words of tender caring,
To only be erased
And filled up again,
This time, though,
Not with warm affection,
But with malice and foul inflection.
It burns my soul to be captive here,
Burns like the fires of Hell,
But wait, isn’t Hell just a concept
Of evil and sorrow?
But then, I lighten up again,
Feel glad again,
Because I have in me
A small thing called Hope.
Every vice is balanced by a virtue,
And to comprehend a virtue,
Vice needs to be known,
Just like to know light,
Darkness needs comprehension.
Hope, though, is the only passion I have.
What remains now
Is whether Hope is force enough
To free me, to tear me from these shackles
And manacles that bind me,
So that I too may
Roam, float, wander,
And realize on my own
That there is a Paradise somewhere,
Where bliss and ecstasy reign absolute
And tranquility and freedom rule supreme.

- Vinaykrishnan

Elements

I am divided into two elements:
One, full of perturbation and chaos;
The other, the clarity and conscience of the soul of man...
Little is my chaos interested in the outer demeanors of man,
My chaos is my own – for better or for worse.
My conscience, is however, the epitome of the virtues of the Gods,
Unending, never failing, never flailing, ever invariable.
I am not a spark of ignominy, or a flash of brilliance.
I am ignominy incarnate, and brilliance personified.
My inner beings are always at conflict,
Yet at serenity and harmony perpetual.
Conflicts rage asunder in my soul, sown with blazing discord,
Only to be quieted by my havens of enduring tranquility.

-Vinaykrishnan.

Vengeance

I just finished watching a very different and a very touching trilogy of films. I have now reason to believe that even movies contain messages, and can capture, and reveal, the raw emotions of a person. Everything that is boiling inside underneath the skin of the person who has found reason to live, even though the reason is vengeance. Aptly named, the Vengeance Trilogy is a collection of 3 films that are unrelated to each other, but are about the same concepts of vengeance, violence, and salvation. The movies are Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, Oldboy, and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. The director, Park Chan-Wook, has done an incredible job of portraying the protagonists' agony, fury and the violence that erupts as a result of years of pent-up thoughts of vengeance. Choi Min Sik has played amazing roles in two of the three movies, especially in Oldboy.

 

Some of the lines from the movies that really shook me up, leaving me bruised and battered.

 

• Even though I'm no better than a beast, don't I have the right to live?
  
• Whether it be a grain of sand or a rock, in water they both sink alike.
  
• Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone.
  
• There is an angel inside us. This angel inside us needs to be invoked by way of prayer. I realized this in prison. When I got free, and was on the outside, to this thought I said, "Fuck you."
  
• After I have killed this man, I shall take you back to Australia. I am too big a sinner to be called Mother by you.
  
• If I had known then, that it would be fifteen years, would it have been easier? Or would it have been harder?
  

 

Awesome movies. Worth the six hours, every last second of it.

Life

Life toys with us daily. It starts with our education, the tender beginnings of an apparently wholesome life. How much have we learnt from other's experiences? How much have we learnt from the books that we are given almost as inheritance? How much have we learnt from life, and how much by ourselves? We caught life by the scruff of the neck, sometimes even compromising by latching on to the lessons from failure. We blew the balloons of dreams, and even fought to get to the surface sometimes. We tried our best to get things working with false means, but yet lauded the true means that got us to the end. We tailored the topsy paths to meet our goals. Never did we step back in fear, never lost our focus. We tattooed our small joys on our fingers, we helped pals with outstretched arms, and we accepted life on its terms. What all have we achieved through our guile? How much have we learnt from life, and how much by ourselves?

Lonely.

I see the rough, hewn stones that make up the street that lines up to the tavern up ahead. My feet trace their path there every evening after work. Their ale is the strongest. I need it so that I black out, and can move out of this innate tedium of frustration and loneliness. Work, eat, drink, pass out, wake, work, eat, drink, pass out. It does get boring after a while. The worst is that the only part that is not boring, is the shortest, and is unconsciously spent. I only wish I can inject some life into my pathetic excuse for one.

But it's not just something to do. It is more to do with someone to be with. I realise that I started going to the tavern religiously only when I started hating going home to no one. To an empty kitchen, and an unmade bed. To a place with no laughter, or intelligence, or joy, or company. I'd rather drown in noise and ale and in the throngs of unknown faces, than spend even a single moment alone staring up at the cracks in the ceiling or the spider weaving its web patiently near the corner.

It's a shame really. The whole wide world out there to explore and have fun, and yet I'm dreary and alone and miserable. When I was younger, I used to dream, and I had decided that I would never ever simply lose it and never ever give up on life.

I guess, that's just how it turned out for me.

- Vinaykrishnan

You.

I can feel the whorls of your fingertips that glide over my chest, stopping at random points, like an overture to an orchestra. My heart beats faster when you cuddle up closer and whisper sensuous nothings into my ear, and i can feel your lips next to my face. Your breath, coming in prurient gasps, is a melody to my senses, and it impels me to hold you tighter to me. I cannot resist the intensity of your gaze, that does not for a moment stray from me, or the way your legs lock around me, entangling and ensnaring me in your web of amorous avidity. The way your moist, warm skin, brushes against mine, titillating me in every possible manner, is something I can not even put to words. How your stomach that flutters at each touch of my hands, the navel jiving to a feverish rhythm, can simply freeze time. The standstill, the profoundness of the moment before we kiss is something that I can only treasure and pray for. The way your lips touch me and pique my senses to make me want more is inexplicable. I do all I can to resist this frenzy. But I get swept away, to a place that makes no sense at all, and yet everything is lucid and perfect. The yen for owning you, and possessing you, and being one with your body is so fierce, it shocks me to my core. It's like taking that first breathe of air that fills your lung with racking pain, when you emerge from within an icy cold lake of water. But I would brave a thousand such pangs of pain, a million in fact, if it brings me but one moment of pure joy and love with you. You are the only feeling I have. You are the only motion I desire. You are the only repose I need.

 You.
 - Vinaykrishnan.

I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

I sit here by the window, looking outside the glass. Raindrops splattering the pane, and then dripping and slipping away to the hedges below keep me rivetted. Sub-consciously I stir the coffee in a mug in my hands. The coffee is something special, comes from Brazil. But it doesn't taste near good enough like the way it did when you made it for me. I gulp it down, its no longer hot. I feel like talking now, but I have less to say without you here. I wish you were here.

This place is getting cold now, especially without you here. The mellifluous sounds of your laughter still echo here, ringing in my ears. Remnants of the past, your face, your touch, your kiss, your love, all keep haunting me even after all these years.

I have stopped drinking now. The drink only makes me sullen. But I don't want you to think I'm unhappy, or that I'm too lonely. I'm pretty happy, I get invited to dinners still. I'm happy. And yet I cannot bide a single moment away withoput thinking of you, and your brown hair cascading over your shoulders when you bend down to kiss me on my forehead. I guess, even if I live to see myself become an old man, unable to eat his own food, or climb the stairs in my home, I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

(Idea courtesy: Colin Hay)

Theft

I just read this off the internet:

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from - it’s where you take them to.” – Jim Jarmusch